Three new poems for you from Holly Day, F.J. Bergmann, and Anton Rose and, while all three works contain food references, the underlying darker, dystopian tone ensures these are certainly not recipes for happy meals!

​The Lightby Holly Day

We wait for the bombs to feel us outpass the potatoes, say grace over the odd angelsthat have watched over us for yearsthrough the stained-glass windows of old churchesthrough the eyes of Orthodox iconography. This is a moment of peacethat will never come again.

Through the windows, the strength of distant concussionsfold trees in half, take grain silos and snap power lines. We turn up the gas, clear the dinner tableI put a knife in your hand, just in case.

The sky grows as dark as if seen through closed eyeswindows shake and fly apart. Handsover their eyes, I stretch out next to the childrentell them it’s just the sound of His voice, there’s nothing to be afraid of, it’ll all work out in the end.

* Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Oyez Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, while her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.

* F.J. Bergmann writes poetry and speculative fiction, often simultaneously, appearing in Dreams and Nightmares, New Myths, On Spec, Quantum Realities, Silver Blade, and a bunch of literary journals that should have known better. The editor of Star*Line, the journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, and poetry editor of Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, she frequents Wisconsin and fibitz.com

Dinner for Twoby Anton Rose

We gave ourselves two minutes eachlike supermarket sweep;you, ever the optimistran straight for the sweetswhile I retreatedto tins of apricots and corned beef.

You came back smiling, a half-eatenbag of marshmallowsclutched in your hands.We found one of the fires outside,used a car aerial for toasting,tried to remember some old songs.

After dinner we watched the stars –below them, on the horizon,saw another explosionso we played our favourite game:held hands, closed our eyes,pretended it was over.

* Anton Rose lives in Durham (UK) with his wife and their dog. He writes fiction and poetry, and his work has appeared in a number of print and online journals. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose

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